


Moonlight

by buckysbears (DrZebra)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hair Braiding, Hurt/Comfort, Mama Hawk, Nightmares, Parental Riza Hawkeye, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 07:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16090556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrZebra/pseuds/buckysbears
Summary: The birth of a child is supposed to be a happy time. But with the heat of summer comes memories that Riza just can't seem to run from.Luckily, she doesn't have to face them alone.





	Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> thank you as always to my lovely beta agentcalliope

The day was scorching, and the night isn’t much better. The heat seeps in through the open window, dry and thick, the pitiful breeze nudging at the curtains.

Riza rolls again, sweat sticking her to the white sheets. Her nightgown clings like a second skin, and she pulls it away from her chest. A heavy sigh pushes from her nose. She’s not going to sleep tonight. She needs the rest desperately—the whirlwind of the last few days has taken so much out of her, and she’s been up for almost a full day with the baby. Ed and Winry sent her off to bed with the assurance they would be fine for a couple of hours. She saw the panic in their eyes, but she knows they will be. It was sweet, them worrying about her, but she knows sleep will escape her this night.

She won’t fall asleep.

She doesn’t fall asleep.

… Until she does.

The heat is unbearable.

 

She runs.

She runs and she fears and she tries not to scream. Scream out for someone, anyone, to come save her. She knows if they hear her, they’ll find her; if they find her, they’ll catch her; and if they catch her …

She trips and her teeth catch on her lip. A shout almost pulls from her throat, but she just raises a tan finger to wipe away the spot of blood. She twists around a building, sand kicking up beneath her shoes. She catches a glimpse of herself in the reflection of a broken window—wide, panicked, red eyes—and dives through the door of a half-crumbled building to take cover.

Her rasping, gasping breaths are too loud. They’re going to catch her any moment. She puts her hands over her mouth, but it’s no use. Finally, she ducks her head out a doorway to see if anyone is coming.

From high up in a tower, there’s a glint of silver.

She hears the _bang_.

And then she wakes up.

 

Riza’s feet hit the ground before she’s fully conscious, her arms wrapping around her stomach to fight the sudden wave of nausea. She looses one to wipe the sweat away from her forehead (there’s too much of it even for this heat) and quickly regrets it. Bile stings the back of her throat, and she barely makes it to the bathroom across the hall before she loses what little food she’s had. Sour as it is, she regrets not eating more.

Her coughs echo in the toilet, and she worries about waking the baby. Her legs waver under her as she stands and shuffles to the sink. The water is cold in her mouth, and cleansing on her skin. But the image of red eyes in the window’s reflection, and the high up glint of gunmetal grey, keeps her stomach knotted tight.

She braces herself over the sink and takes a few long, drawn breaths before making her way back to the guest room. Her footfalls are silent on the ground. She scrapes her hair off the back of her neck, suddenly regretting trying to grow it out again. The door slips shut behind her, and she falls weary onto the mattress.

But it’s not long before there’s a tentative knock on the door, and before she can respond, Ed’s face is peeking into the room, one hand over his eyes.

“Captain?” he whispers. “You decent?”

She gathers the blanket she hadn’t been using and tugs it around her shoulders. “Yes,” she whispers back. “Did you need something? How’s the baby?”

Ed waits another moment before he drops his hand, and then shuffles into the room. She can see the ache of tiredness in his smile. “Sleeping, with Winry. They finally both passed out.”

She nods. “That’s good.” The knot in her stomach has loosened by a fraction, but it still has a vice on her insides.

“Can’t sleep?”

She tries to smile. “Caught a little.”

His own drops as he looks at her. “You getting sick? Because you know I love having you here to help, but I will ban you from the baby’s room if you’re catching something.”

She shakes her head. “No, not catching anything, just …” He looks at her quizzically, and she continues, “Just a hot night.”

It takes a few moments, but soon the realization dawns on his face. She doesn’t look away from it.

“Nightmare?” he says.

She nods. He nods back, head tilting down to watch his own fingers play with the ratty edge of his sleep shirt.

There’s a spill of silence, and then a quiet “Oh!” before he turns and marches out of the room.

Riza blinks after him, and the knot pulls tighter.

But he isn’t gone long. Not a minute later, he’s reentering with a damp cloth and a glass of water.

She wants to tell him his attention isn’t necessary, but he’s being so sweet and she doesn’t want to dissuade him. She takes the glass and a few sips of water, and truthfully it does make her feel better.

She thinks he might leave, but he sits on the bed next to her, swapping the glass for the cloth. It’s cold against her face, her arms, the back of her neck. She feels less in a daze, slowly becoming more alert.

Ed takes the cloth back and sets it on the nightstand. The glass of water finds its way to her lips again, and she takes a longer gulp. Ed scratches his fingernails over his knee.

“Your hair,” he says over the soft sounds of the wind. She looks over at him. “You’re growing it out again.”

She nods, unsure why he’s trying to make small talk now. Probably just feels awkward, she supposes.

And he does blush a little, which throws her, scratching a hand over the back of his neck.

“Could I, uh …” He huffs something that might be a laugh. “Well, I mean. I used to braid mine all the time, but I don’t really wear it like that anymore … I- I guess I miss it sometimes, I don’t know. Winry doesn’t really let me mess with hers. Could- Would you mind if, uh—”

She sets the glass on the nightstand, and he flinches a little at the _clunk_. She watches him expectantly, waiting for him to finish.

He finally does in a rush. “Do you want me to braid it for you?”

 Even though she knew that’s where he was going, the question throws her. She doesn’t know the last time someone had asked her that. When she was a child, in all likelihood. Not her father, of course. Maybe Roy. A different boy with a blush and a sheepish smile.

She raises an arm to run over the back of her head. It’s not grimy, but what she says is, “It’s not very clean.”

She was giving him an out, but he takes it as a rejection, and she sees her mistake immediately. He pulls back a little, raising a hand. His teeth flash in a nervous smile, but she cuts him off before he can speak.

“I’d like you to, though.”

The hand drops. So does the nervous smile, pulling into something more genuine. He motions for her to turn around, and she does, letting her back face him. It’s a vulnerable position—for a sniper, and for her specifically. He saw the tattoo long ago, and it’s covered by a blanket now in any case. But she knows, deep in her gut, that he is someone she trusts when she faces away from him and the knot in her stomach loosens.

She lets her breath come out slow as he takes her hair into his hands and starts to comb through it with his fingers. He’s grown so much, and his hands are rough from work. Still, she can’t help but imagine him as that scrappy little kid in the red jacket, always ready for a fight—whether with friend or foe. He’s come so far, and she finds herself blinking away a certain sting just thinking about it.

“I’m really proud of you, Ed,” she says, and she doesn’t mind so much that her voice is a little thick.

His hands still. They aren’t touching, but she can feel the warmth on the back of her neck.

“Why, because I can braid hair better than you?” he says, and she knows it’s a challenge.

One she doesn’t rise to.

“I’m not very good,” she admits.

His fingers start to weave her hair. He doesn’t pull, no pricks of pain light her scalp. He really is good at it.

“I think you braided my hair a grand total of once,” he says, a snicker in his tone. “It didn’t go so well.”

“You hurt your arm,” she remembers. Ed hums in confirmation. “It didn’t look very good when I was done with it.”

“A snake could have done better.”

“They don’t even have arms.”

“I know.”

She snorts, letting her shoulders drop a fraction. “I’ve never had much practice.”

“Who taught you? Your mom?”

She goes to shake her head, then thinks better of it. It almost hurts, the casual remark, but not necessarily in a bad way. She’s had family on the mind the last few days, and her heart aches with joy for the new Elric child. He’ll grow up different than she did, she knows that much. He’ll be surrounded by enough love to feed a nation.

“Rebecca. She taught me at the academy so that I could braid it when she got drunk.”

Ed snorts. “That sounds about right.”

“I’ve had short hair for most of my life, so I never really had a need for it.”

She hears him hum. “You had short hair the first time we met. Why’d you decide to grow it out?”  

She smiles. “Because of Winry, actually. I liked hers.”

He laughs. “Don’t tell her that. It’ll go straight to her head.” He gives a soft tug on her hair. “All done, Captain.”

Her fingers find the start of the braid and slowly run down. It feels even and just tight enough to stay without giving her a headache. The end is too short to pull over her shoulder, but she thumbs the tie that Ed must’ve already had on his wrist. It looks like one of Winry’s. She turns so her back is facing the wall, Ed to her side.

“You know you don’t have to call me Captain, Ed.”

His smile is lopsided, tired and fond. “What else would I call you?”

“I don’t know,” she says back, just as tired, and just as fond. “Maybe ‘Riza’.”

He nods, looking away, and rubs at one of his eyes. “Sure thing, Captain.”

Above the silence, there’s the soft breath of wind from outside, and the gentle ticking of the clock. If the moonlight that came in from the window made a sound, dancing through the dust in the air, it would be a lullaby.

“I meant what I said.” She just wants him to know. He looks up at her. “About being proud of you.”

“Yeah,” he says, looking down again at the covers. “I know.”

She drops the end of the braid to pat the top of his head a few times. “You’ve grown a lot.”

The glint in his eye is murderous. “Is that a short joke?”

She meant it as one, but she smiles and says, “Of course not.”

He grumbles unhappily, eventually muttering out, “Good. I’d have to kick you out if it was one.”

“You could try.”

“Oh, what? You could stop me?”

“Winry would.”

He balks. “Oh. Yeah, she’d probably kill me if it meant you would stay.”

A laugh huffs from her nose, and she leans back against the wall. Tiredness is starting to creep in on her again. “You two will get ahold of the baby thing soon. Your instincts are good. You’ll get the hang of it.”

“Mmm,” he hums. He yawns, and moves to lean against the wall as well. But there’s only wall up to his lower back, and open window above that. He moves backwards, and keeps going, and gives a little shout as he almost falls out.

Riza’s hand flies to her mouth to stifle her rolling laughter as Ed rights himself and glowers beside her. She’s not expecting him to readjust so that he can drop his head onto her shoulder. Her laughter stops. A smile spreads.

“Tired,” Ed grumbles.

“You should get some sleep while you have the chance,” she says.

He sighs. “If I go in there I’ll wake up the baby. Then Winry will really kill me.”

She gives a sympathetic hum. “That’s probably accurate.” She pats his arm. “You know you’re gonna have to name him eventually.”

He yawns again. “Yeah. We’re thinking after Winry’s dad.”

“Little Yuriy. That’s a good name.”

“Mmm,” he hums. He rubs a hand over his face, but it’s clear he isn’t going to last much longer. “Captain,” he murmurs, and she leans closer to hear him. “Nightmares are gonna stop eventually.”

She scratches idly at the skin around her fingernail. She thinks about it. Not that she hasn’t before. “Have yours?” she asks.

Ed hums. A simple sound, no indication either way.

Riza lets her head drop against the wall. The breeze pushes at the curtains. The clock on the wall says it’s past 4am, which means that the baby will be hungry again in not too long.

She wants to say more. Say that it’s been an honor watching Ed grow from that angry child into the strong and doting man he’s become. Say that she holds it a treasure unlike any other that he’s let her into his family. Say that if nightmares do still plague him, she’s glad he has someone to be there after. She wants to ask if maybe, there’s any possibility he sees something in her worth being proud of too.

Not that she would. Some things are better left resting. Like the man who’s now fallen asleep against her shoulder, a soft snore pulling from his chest.

The heat really isn’t so bad.


End file.
